The Complete Liveship Traders Trilogy: Ship of Magic, The Mad Ship, Ship of Destiny. Robin Hobb
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I wish I could have seen your eyes. What kind of a person could destroy such art?’
Her words moved him, but they also nudged him toward a thing he could not, would not recall. Gruffly he replied, ‘Such compliments! Are they meant to distract my mind from the fact that you have not answered my request?’ He released her hand.
‘No. Not at all. I am… Amber. I carve wood. I make jewellery from it, beads and ornaments, combs and rings. Sometimes larger pieces, such as bowls and goblets… even chairs and cradles. But not many of those. My talent seems strongest on smaller work. May I touch your face?’
The question came so swiftly that he found himself nodding before he had considered. ‘Why?’ he asked belatedly.
He felt her come closer to him. The scant warmth of her body interceded with the chill of the rain. He felt her fingers brush the edge of his beard. It was a very slight touch and yet he shivered to it. The reaction was too human. Had he been able to draw back, he would have.
‘I cannot reach you. Could you… would you lift me up?’
The vast trust she offered made him forget she had not answered his first question. ‘I could crush you in my hands,’ he reminded her.
‘But you will not,’ she told him confidently. ‘Please.’
The urgency in her plea frightened him. ‘Why do you think I would not? I’ve killed before, you know! Whole crews of men! All of Bingtown knows that. Who are you not to fear me?’
For answer, she set her bare wet hand to the skin of his arm. She flowed through his grain; the warmth of her shot through him the way the heat of a woman’s hand on a man’s thigh can inflame his whole body. Both ways, he suddenly knew, the flow was both ways, he was within her flesh as much as she was within his timbers. Her humanity sang in him. He wallowed in her senses. Rain had soaked her hair and clothes to her body. Her skin was cold, but her body warmed itself from within. He felt the sigh of air in her lungs like wind against his sails had been, the rush of blood through her flesh almost like the sea water thrilling past his hull.
‘You are more than wood!’ she cried aloud. Discovery was in her voice and he knew the sudden terror of betrayal. She was inside him, seeing too much, knowing too much. All the things he had set aside from himself, she was awakening. He did not mean to push her so hard, but she cried out as she fell on the wet sand and rocky beach. He heard her gasping for breath as the rain fell all around them.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asked gruffly after a time. Things were calming inside him.
‘No,’ she spoke quietly. Then, before he could apologize, ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Despite everything, I expected you to be… wood. I’ve a gift for wood. When I touch it, I know it, I know how its grain bends, where it runs fine or coarse… I thought I could touch you and guess how your eyes had been. I touched you, thinking to find only wood. I should not have been so… forgive me. Please.’
‘It’s all right,’ he replied gravely. ‘I did not mean to push you away so abruptly. I did not intend that you should fall.’
‘No, it was my own fault. And you were right to push me away. I…’ She halted again and for a time the only sounds were the rain. The shush of the waves came louder now. The tide had turned and the water was venturing closer. ‘Please, may we begin again?’ she suddenly asked.
‘If you wish,’ he said awkwardly. This woman… he did not understand this woman at all. So quickly she had trusted him, and now so swiftly she moved towards friendship. He was not accustomed to things like this happening, let alone happening so quickly. It frightened him. But more frightening was the thought that she might go away and not come back. He searched himself for some trust of his own to offer her. ‘Would you like to come in, out of the rain?’ he invited her. ‘I’m at a terrible list, and it’s no warmer within than without, but at least you’d be out of the rain.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d like that. I’d like that a great deal.’
THERE WERE FEW SAFE HARBOURS on the Outside Passage worthy of the name, but Nook was one of them. It was a tricky place to get into on an outgoing tide, but once within, it was one of the few places where both ships and sailors could rest easy for a night or two. Most ports on the Outside were regularly scoured by the winter storms that blew in off the Wild Sea and pounded the beaches mercilessly, sometimes for weeks on end. A wise captain kept his ship well away from land on her way south, for the closer she came to the outer banks, the greater the chance she would be driven ashore and pounded to pieces on the rocks. If their water supplies had not gone too foul even for sailors to drink, chances were that the Reaper would not have taken the risk of coming into Nook.
But she had, and so the crew was having one blessed evening of shore-liberty, of women, of food that was not salt and water that was not green with scum. The holds of the Reaper were full, cask after cask of salted meat, stacks of rolled hides, tubs of oil and fat. It was a rich cargo, hard-won, and the crew were justifiably proud of having filled her so swiftly. It had been but fifteen months since the Reaper had left her home port of Candletown. Their return journey had been far swifter than their outbound one. The professional sailors knew they had well-earned the bonuses they expected at the end of the trip, while the hunters and skinners had kept their own tallies as to what their shares would be. Those forced into sailing knew that all they had to do now was survive as far as home, and they would disembark as free men.
Athel, the ship’s boy, had distinguished himself by earning a skinner’s bonus on top of his regular wages. This had made him somewhat popular with those on the ship who enjoyed playing dice, but the shy boy had turned down all offers to accept his scrip against his forthcoming bonus. To the surprise of all, he had also refused the offer to move in with the skinners and hunters and become one of them, preferring to remain as a common crew member. When pushed to answer why, the boy would only grin and say, ‘D’ruther be a sailor. Sailor can ship out on any kind of vessel. But hunters and skinners, they have to come north at least once a year. This is my first time north; didn’t like it much.’
It was actually the best answer he could have given. Hunters and skinners were left admiring themselves for how tough they were, while the sailors nodded approvingly to themselves at the wisdom of his choice. Brashen had to wonder if Althea had taken all that into account or simply made a lucky decision. He watched her across the tavern. She sat at the end of a bench, nursing the same mug of dark beer that she’d first ordered. She nodded to the talk at the table, she laughed in all the right places, and she looked convincingly bashful when the whores approached her. She was, he thought, finally a member of the ship’s crew.
That afternoon on the slaughter-beach had changed her. She had proven to herself that she could excel, when the task did not demand brute strength or bulk to accomplish it. For as long as they’d been ashore there, her first task had become to skin, and with the passing days, she had only become swifter at it. She had brought that confidence back on board with her, taking to herself the tasks where nimbleness and swiftness counted more than size. She still struggled when she had to work alongside the men, but that was expected of a boy. That she had excelled in one area had given them faith that in time she would grow into her other tasks as well.
Brashen swallowed the last two mouthfuls of beer in his mug and held it up for more. And, he thought to himself, she had the sense not to get drunk with her shipmates. He nodded to himself. He’d underestimated her. She’d survive this voyage, so long as she kept on as she had begun. Not that she could spend many years sailing as a boy, but she’d get by for this one.
A barmaid came to refill his mug. He nodded to her and pushed a coin across the table. She took it gravely and bobbed a curtsey before darting off to the next table. A pretty little thing